Poinsettia on your butt – a psychological experiment

So, Evie’s class has a holiday breakfast yesterday morning. Somewhere between admiring the drawings of “where they live” and admiring Evie’s “book”, I must have leaned against a wall in the classroom. I don’t actually remember it happening, but I think it’s pretty clear that it did happen, because when I leaned against the wall an exact replica of a pastel poinsettia transferred onto my posterior. I’m pretty sure I could have found the specific picture I leaned on, because it would have been a one-to-one match.

Sara noticed it first, though I suppose I don’t know how long I was walking around with a poinsettia on my butt. Keep in mind this was in a room full of the worst possible people: people who I don’t really know, but am likely to run in to again frequently. If I knew them better, we could probably laugh about the beautiful mural on my butt. If they were total strangers, I could probably just pretend I’m the type of guy who can pull off a pastel butt mural. “Oh, you don’t like it? Well, it’s very European.”

I went to the bathroom and tried awkwardly to wipe my butt in the mirror (like you do), but it didn’t help much. It just sort of smeared it from “beautiful pastel poinsettia” to “big, mostly-red with a little black, butt smear”. Also by this time, Sara and Evie started referring to me as “poinsettia butt”.

Now, I must admit, situations like this are when it comes in handy to have no shame. I mean, I wasn’t HAPPY about the situation, but it was what it was, so, you know. ::shrug:: Ain’t no party like a red baboon butt party.

But you know what’s weird? Not ONE PERSON mentioned it to me. Not even to say, “Hey, uh, hate to be the bringer of bad news, but I think you accidentally squished a my little pony.” That’s weird, right? I mean, it was kind of hard to miss, so I know people were seeing it. I wasn’t sticking to the wall or anything. I guess no one wants to admit they were looking at my butt?

After this I had to go to work, so I debated going home to change. But, you know, in for a penny, in for a pound, right? Besides, I mostly sit at a computer all day.

Every time I went to get coffee or went to the bathroom, I expected someone to say something. Nothing. Not one person. I actually started to get self-conscious about them NOT mentioning it. “Hello!” I wanted to shout. “Can’t you see my butt?” What if I really didn’t know it was back there? Wouldn’t anybody tell me, or would they let me go like that all day?

I started trying to make my butt more conspicuous. What would it take for someone to say something? A hip thrust? A little wiggle? I don’t know. I never found out, because no one ever said anything.

So what’s going on here? Is it just uncouth to talk about someone’s butt? Do we all just assume someone else must have mentioned it, so nobody ends up mentioning it? (Kind of how nobody will call an ambulance in an emergency)

Or is it just me? Am I actually the type of guy who can pull off a pastel butt mural?

Apparently, I am.

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